Going Down
by Cecilia Strife
Summary: Sherlock's bored, yet again, and John's left to deal with our favorite unruly detective. What happens when John alleviates his boredom by bringing him to Bart's? They get stuck in a lift... Reposted after some changes. See inside for more details. Johnlock. MxM


**DISCLAIMER: **I own nothing! (unfortunately)

**AN: PLEASE READ! -** My original version of this story was taken down because it was too explicit. Soooooo, I took out the lemon! Fear not, dear readers! If you want to read the full version, you're more than welcome to visit my profile and visit my DA account and view it there. Thank you to whomever reviewed previously. Your words were very encouraging and I'm debating on writing the sequel (depending on if I how much more positive feedback I get) like some of you asked. Anyway, happy reading!

"John...my brain...is **rotting**!"

John sighed and looked over the brim of the morning paper at the consulting detective spread over the sofa. His arms and legs hung over the back and off of the edge of the black leather cushions like a giraffe. If John didn't force Sherlock to shower and change that morning, he would have gone another several days without bathing or grooming. They had been stuck in 221B for several days with no call from Lestrade or clients and it was slowly driving the genius insane.

Not that he wasn't slightly off the deep end in the first place.

John went back to reading an article about the recent hike in local taxes with a sigh. "Start an experiment."

"I already did three this morning. Boring."

"Ask Lestrade for some cold cases."

Sherlock merely looked deeply offended at the suggestion. With a snap and an irritated huff, John closed his newspaper.

"Then watch some telly."

"Please, John, don't be dull."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "How about Molly?"

"What about her?" Sherlock inquired with an arch of a dark eyebrow.

John set the local rag down and stood. "Why don't you see if she has anything to do at the morgue? It'll get you out of the flat for a couple of hours. I'll not have a repeat of last Tuesday."

"Are you still on that?" Sherlock's grimaced.

Heading into the kitchen, John was grateful for the physical distance. He was a few seconds short of throttling Sherlock's long neck. "You **destroyed** my favorite jumper. I have every right to be miffed about it."

"It was for an experiment..."

Getting more irate, John roughly pulled out a mug and turned the kettle on. He opened the fridge next and heaved a defeated sigh. No milk...

"The material of that particular jumper was a crucial blend that I needed to-"

"You can't just go 'round obliterating other people's clothes, Sherlock!"

A pale, elegant nose rose in the air and sniffed. His features settled into indifference. "I really don't see why you're so angry about it. It was just a couple of small holes."

"It looked like Swiss cheese, you git!" John swiveled around and threw a spoon in Sherlock's direction, in which the detective avoided with an agile duck.

"There's no need for violence, John."

John growled and turned back around as the kettle whistled. _Tea. Just get through tea, Watson._

Once tea was made, John walked back into the sitting room and took his place back in his chair. He looked over at Sherlock and blinked as he realized that icy blue eyes were staring at him expectantly. "What?"

Sherlock frowned. "You didn't make me any. That's very inconsiderate of you, John. You must really be angry about the jumper."

"Just." John hissed through clenched teeth. "Text. Molly."

Sherlock heaved a great sigh as though he was being put out. "But my phone is all the way over there. In front of you. Feet away..."

Sometimes, John commended himself on his abundance of patience. He snatched up the phone and fired off a quick text to Molly. At this point, he didn't care how he got Sherlock to occupy himself. Even if he had to do it himself.

_Please tell me you have something, ANYTHING, in the morgue that would interest Sherlock. He's driving me round the bend! -JW_

He didn't wait long for a reply.

_As a matter of fact, I think I do. I didn't want to bother him if he was busy. Come over to Bart's, I'll be here for a while. -Molly3_

Thank Christ for you, Molly Hooper! You're a saint! -JW

That bad, huh? Have you considered a tranquilizer? -Molly3

John giggled at the screen. She may not seem like it, but Molly had a decent sense of humor. If he didn't love Sherlock the way he did, he would've considered the woman in a heartbeat. Last he heard, she was seeing Detective Inspector Dimmock for the past couple of months.

As he was sending his next text, he heard a faint growl coming from the direction of the sofa. He glanced up to see his love's eyes averted but was that a blush staining pale cheeks? John ignored it and sent his message.

_Believe me, I think about it often. For either one of us. We'll be there shortly. -JW_

"Come on," John stood up again and dumped his untouched tea, "Molly said she has something for you."

Sherlock grunted but stood, roughly grabbing his coat and scarf before rushing down the stairs without a word. John was halfway through his coat when the deep baritone struck through the air in annoyance. "Hurry it up!"

The doctor sighed. He couldn't wait to get to Bart's.

If Sherlock's patience was thin before, it was as frail as a cobweb now. His long legs vibrated as they danced on the balls of his feet over and over again as he looked sullenly out the cab window. Blue eyes danced across the window closest to him, observing various people at once just to keep his thought processes sharp. Every now and again he would stare at John and huff out a breath in agitation. John didn't mind; this was typical on an "off" day.

Once they arrived, Sherlock practically jumped and ran out of the cab to the service entrance at the back of the hospital. John hurried to pay the cabbie before following the black coat and blue scarf inside of the hospital. He would have lost his companion if the stairs were under maintenance for painting and the lift hadn't needed to be summoned back up to their floor. As they waited, a polished shoe tapped impatiently. John almost sighed in relief when the double doors "whooshed" open with a disturbing rattle and they stepped inside. The doors closed with a jarring squeal and they began to float down to the morgue.

John had opened his mouth to quiet Sherlock's constant growling and huffing when suddenly the lift jerked and screeched to a halt. The lights flickered ominously, threatening to blink out but had remained on. The rickety box swayed for a moment before coming to a complete stop. John groaned, almost whimpering, at the thought of being stuck with a bored Sherlock in a lift for God knows how long. He scrubbed at his face as he heard said man cursing and practically spitting at his misfortune.

Walking over to the panel just next to the door, John opened the metal plating and punched the red emergency button and waited.

And waited...

"What the fuck?" John jabbed at the button again.

And waited.

Now, it was John's turn to be agitated. Ripping his phone out of his pocket, he speed dialed Molly to-

Get an error tone...

Scowling, he looked down and balked. No service.

Before he could take out his aggression on his phone by chucking it at the wall, he heard an exasperated sigh and a muted thud. John looked over to see Sherlock, stripped of his coat and scarf, sitting in the opposite corner of their make-shift cell. The detective's eyes were closed and his legs stretched out in front of him.

_Oh, so __**now**__ the twat wants to relax. Just bloody-buggering, fantastic!_ John growled and pushed the red button again.

"You might as well sit and calm down. No one's going to answer for another couple of minutes. Why waste your time?" Sherlock drawled, not bothering to open his eyes.

John huffed and was about to sit back down when the phone inside of the control panel came to life with a shrill ring. He eagerly snatched the red phone off of the receiver and brought it to his ear. "Hello?! Yes! Yes, I'm here!"

Sherlock snorted but remained otherwise unmoved.

John ignored him and listened to the voice on the other end, eyes widening and narrowing as his conversation went on,

"There's two of us in here...no, no we're not hurt... What do you mean he's not in?! Don't you have a replacement? I'm not raising my voice! Well, how long until he gets here? ...You have **got** to be joking! You have to understand who I'm stuck in here with... Fine!" John slammed the phone back on the receiver with a growl and a sigh.

"Not good, I take it?"

He swiveled to see Sherlock's eyes opened and watching him carefully. Feeling his agitation worsen, John started pacing in what little space that he had left. "No, not at all. Maintenance won't be here for another two hours. Apparently, the temp that they hired in the mean time is unreachable and on the other side of London. We're stuck for now."

Sherlock shrugged and made himself more comfortable on the hard floor, preparing himself for long wait. However, after five minutes of waiting and listening to John's repeated footsteps, he grew bored.

"Bored..."

John stopped. "What?"

"I'm bored. We were supposed to be here to relieve that and now look at where we are." Sherlock practically whined.

"Honestly," John slumped against the wall and rubbed his face, "stop your whinging. There's nothing to do in here but sit and wait. Why don't you go to your Mind Palace if you're that desperate."

Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Why bother? There's no thought process that needs my immediate attention. No, that would be counterproductive. I have nothing to focus on."

Raising an eyebrow, John immediately came up with several scenarios to relieve Sherlock's "lack of focus. Seeing this, Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh please, John. Here? If you're that bored then rub one out."

"And you would just sit there...and do what?" John said bemused.

"Nothing. I've no need to masturbate, as I don't have an erection or any feeling of arousal at the moment."

"That could very well changed."

"Doubtful."

John paused. "So...you mean to tell me that you can't come up with a scenario in your mind that would excite you? That's hard to believe."

"Why would I intentionally arouse myself? I'm bored, not horny."

"Suit yourself. I could think of several fantasies, so I'm good." John slid down the closest wall, across from Sherlock, and closed his eyes.

Curious, Sherlock shifted. "Oh? And what would those be?"

Oh...this was too good. He really shouldn't be a prat, but who was John to deny himself when his lover left himself wide open.

"Well... Lestrade's very handsome-"

"Lestrade?!"

"-I always had a thing for cops. I think the girls, and some of the guys, around the office call him a...what was it? Oh! 'Silver Fox'. I have to agree."

"...Lestrade?!"

John nodded. "Mhm. Although, I have a thing for a Holmes."

He nearly giggled at the relieved slouch that Sherlock took on. Oh, was he going to be surprised.

"Always thought Mycroft looked distinguished-"

"WHAT?!"

"It's the three-piece suits, I think. Very dashing."

Now that Sherlock was openly seething, John took pity on him with a grin.

"And then there's the younger Holmes brother."

Curly hair bounced as their owner shifted in attention.

"How would I describe him?" John continued. He brought his hand up to his chin as it raised in thought. "Definitely handsome. Much more handsome than his brother."

He could see the taller man practically preen at the compliment but remained silent.

"Those tight button-downs that he wears should be illegal. The way they form to his torso to the point the buttons look like they'll pop off at any second. He's lithe and sleek. And those trousers! Christ, the way they hug his arse is sinful..."

Oh... John was going to have fun with this...

About an hour and a half later:

Wrapping his arms around Sherlock, John closed his eyes and licked his lips. Oh yeah, definitely worth the sore arse he was going to sport the next couple of days. He unconsciously played with the damp curls above him as he felt Sherlock's heart beating loudly against his own chest. As they calmed down, John chuckled. "Not so bored, now are we?"

Sherlock grunted.

"Well...that's something to check off of the list..."

John felt Sherlock's eyebrows curl into a frown against his chest. "What?"

"You know, the check-list. Sex in a lift, sex in a public restroom, sex in a plane, so on and so forth."

Sherlock lifted his head, confusion still set in his features. "I don't understand."

John shook his head. "Social reference, never mind."

Grunting, the detective dropped his head to John's shoulder. "Simpletons... Why do I even bother?"

"Although..."

Again with the frown.

"Fancy breaking into Lestrade's office? I heard office sex is entertaining."

At that, Sherlock looked up at him with a smirk that could only be described as evil. "Who needs to break in when I have a key?"

Yep...

John could get used to this.


End file.
